


Hold and Lean

by Traincat



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel 616
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, post-Fantastic Four 600
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/pseuds/Traincat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He looked up to find Peter in the doorway, eyes wide in the gloom, and suddenly he remembered where he was — in Peter’s apartment, in Peter’s bed wrapped in Peter’s sheets, because Peter had threatened to web him to the mattress if he didn’t stop volunteering for the couch.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"You okay?" Peter said, creeping forward. "You were shouting."</i></p><p> </p><p>Johnny Storm and Peter Parker, the first night after Johnny's return from the Negative Zone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold and Lean

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an anonymous prompt: _spideytorch in which johnny comes back from the dead and peter can't keep his mouth shut (and his arms away from johnny)_. I have SO MANY post-Negative Zone!Johnny feelings.
> 
> Takes place after Fantastic Four 600, but before FF 17. Warnings for mild body horror - far less graphic than the actual issue.

What Annihilus told Reed was true: The Human Torch died screaming. But only the first time.

—

Getting the portal open was like a dream.

One second, the Negative Zone, same as it ever was, and the next he had Peter’s arms so tight around him it felt like his ribs might crack. 

"You’re alive!" Peter bellowed, lifting Johnny clear off the ground. He was the warmest, most alive thing Johnny had touched in two years. Peter smelled like sweat and spandex, nothing like the Negative Zone’s rotting, electric air. Johnny wanted to wrap himself around him and bury his face in the junction between Peter’s neck and his shoulder. 

He got his feet back on the ground again instead. Peter’s hands hovered close, clad in the same terrible black and white as the rest of him. His face was a perfect blank.

It was tough to say — had Peter’s face always been unreadable through the mask, or was Johnny just out of practice? In his memories, it’d been easy to spot a grin, but he’d invented a lot of lies, sitting alone in his cell. 

He thought about saying any of the million things he’d thought about telling Peter when he’d been alone, but instead he said: “Hold my Annihilus.”

Pete was always the smart guy. He’d get it.

—

Sue’s face was wet and Reed’s eyes were glassy. There were about a million children milling about his legs and everyone had questions, except Ben, who just crushed him up against his chest hard enough to bruise.

"Watch it," Johnny said, pressing his cheek over Ben’s heart. "Might make me think you missed me."

"Shut yer trap," Ben grumbled. He rested his rocky chin on top of Johnny’s head. "Don’t you do that again." Quietly, so no one could overhear, he added, "Next time, you’re gonna let it be me, capisce?” 

Johnny couldn’t come up with a comeback that was actually funny, so he let Ben have the last word for once and closed his eyes, soaking up the sun-warmed brick heat of him. The Negative Zone felt like it had crawled its way under his skin, leaving him cold to the core.

When he opened his eyes Peter was looking at him with the mask’s big blank stare. 

—

The apartment was dark and Peter was hovering. One hand kept fluttering at the small of Johnny’s back, like Peter couldn’t decide whether or not it was okay to touch him.

"Nice digs," Johnny said. 

"It’s a mess," Peter said, channeling his aunt. "I haven’t spent a ton of time here lately." 

Johnny flopped down on the couch, savoring the feeling of cushions underneath him. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back. He could feel Peter creeping forward, until he was standing between Johnny’s sprawled legs. 

"Could’ve moved into the Baxter Building," he said. "Lap of luxury. I left it for you." 

He’d left everything to Peter, pretty much.That’d been the point: giving Peter his spot on the team was as much for his family as it was for Peter. Reed would have someone to talk science with who would actually get half of it. Ben would have somebody to keep him on his big rocky toes, someone who would appreciate that one wing shack he liked to go to after his team won a game. Sue would have another annoying kid brother underfoot. The kids would have somebody fun, who would never let anything happen to them.

Peter would have a big, loud family, the kind Johnny wouldn’t be able to give him otherwise. 

"I do have a life outside your last will and testament," Peter said, nudging at Johnny’s foot with his own. He said it in his best wisecracking voice, but when Johnny opened one eye his face had that pale, devastated look he’d worn when he’d first torn his mask off in the privacy of Johnny’s shiny new spaceship, all eyebrows and sweaty concern. 

He was going to kill Johnny, which wasn’t fair. If the Negative Zone couldn’t keep him down, Peter Parker’s patented sad face shouldn’t get the honor.

"Hey," he said, holding out a hand. Peter grabbed it immediately, first two fingers resting steady against the inside of Johnny’s wrist like he was feeling for a pulse.

“Hey,” Peter returned, voice cracking.

Johnny didn’t know what to do with that. Johnny didn’t know what to do with anything anymore, nothing but the Negative Zone’s endless cycle of _burn die live_ , so he licked his dry lips and said, “Got any food in this dump?”

—

"You’re paying for all of this," Peter said, watching with horror as Johnny put in an order for half the menu of his favorite all night place. 

"Uh, dude? Dead much?" Johnny raised his eyebrows. "I don’t think my cards are back in working order yet. I’ll pay you back, don’t worry." 

Peter’s shoulder was pressed against his, warm and strong. Something dim and flickering in Johnny’s chest wanted to put his forehead down against the bony jut of Peter’s collarbone, or reach out with his powers to grab hold of Peter’s body heat and pull it over himself like a blanket, but that was — weird. 

Everything was weird.

Peter shifted restlessly, his knee knocking into Johnny’s every two seconds. He put his long spider fingers against Johnny’s hip, then pulled back like he was burned, then did it again a minute later. He kept watching him out of the corner of his eye with a look on his face like he was waiting for Johnny to disappear, or shrivel up and wither like the corpse he was supposed to be. 

They should talk about that, probably. Johnny kept opening his mouth, trying to find the words — _I wanted you with me in there a hundred times_. He’d hated himself for every single one, how he’d wished the Negative Zone on Peter just so he wouldn’t be alone.

Peter laughed, shaky, and yanked the laptop off of Johnny’s knees and onto his own.

"Okay, okay," he said, "I’ll take out — I’ll get a loan, I’ll sell Spidey nudes, okay, just — what do you want? I’ll order two of everything."

—

Johnny woke up in the middle of the night and for one terrifying moment he was sure that his chest was split open, and that this time there was nothing to put him back together.

But when he pressed his hands to his sternum they came away clean. 

"Torch."

He looked up to find Peter in the doorway, eyes wide in the gloom, and suddenly he remembered where he was — in Peter’s apartment, in Peter’s bed wrapped in Peter’s sheets, because Peter had threatened to web him to the mattress if he didn’t stop volunteering for the couch. 

"You okay?" Peter said, creeping forward. "You were shouting." 

His hand came to rest, stifling, at Johnny’s knee. 

"Yeah, I," Johnny started, pulling the sheets around himself, "I’m just — can we turn the heat up? It’s freezing —"

"It’s a million degrees in here," Peter said. 

"— I’m freezing," Johnny said, cold creeping up into his throat like the bite of the axe. He made to get up but Peter just pressed down on his knee with his freaky spider-strength, holding him in place. "Seriously, just — I’ll cover the bill —"

"Johnny," Peter said, alarm in his voice. He grabbed Johnny by the shoulders, too tight. "It’s not cold, Johnny."

"I’m freezing," Johnny insisted.

"You’re _smoking_ ,” Peter countered, shaking him. 

"What?" said Johnny. He looked down at his hands, clenched in the sheets, and realized it was true: smoke was spiraling up from his knuckles, throwing off the occasional spark.

"Hey," Peter said. "Hey, Hothead, just — take a second, okay? Deep, calming breathes. Just think — yoga."

"Girls in spandex pants?" Johnny said, jaw clenched. He was smoking, and Peter was right there, and if Johnny went up in flames — Johnny had burned anyone stupid enough to get close, back in the arena, with extreme prejudice, and Peter was stupid-close. Johnny wasn’t sure he remembered that kind of control, anymore. He shut his eyes tight.

"Yeah," Peter said, his laugh shaky. He curled one hand at the back of Johnny’s neck, tilting their heads together. "Tons of girls in spandex pants. Those little mat things. I don’t know. Breathe with me, okay? _You’re_ okay."

His voice cracked, wet, and Johnny’s eyes flew open. 

"Pete?"

"Nothing — nothing. Don’t set my bed on fire," Peter said, fingers threading into the hair at the back of his neck. "I’m okay. You’re okay.” 

"Pete," Johnny said. He’d stopped smoking, but he didn’t trust the temperature of his hands, so he kept them where they were. Peter didn’t seem to have that problem. 

He leaned in until their foreheads were pressed together and finally said it: ”You were _dead_.”

"I know," Johnny said, smiling in a way he hoped looked less watery than it felt, "I was kind of there, Pete. Hey. Do me a favor?"

"Anything," Peter said, instantly. Johnny’s throat ached. He pulled back just enough to give Peter the gentlest headbutt of all time, finding Peter’s wiry wrist and wrapping his hand around it.

"Get me the rest of that Hawaiian pizza?" he said.

—

"It’s really throwing me off, how you’re not making fun of me," Peter said, wiping at the corners of his eyes with a thumb. Johnny couldn’t look at him for more than two minutes at a time, so mostly he stared at the empty pizza box between them. 

Johnny shrugged, gnawing on the end of a crust. “We have another one of these?”

"We have ten," Peter said, but he got up and got more food before Johnny had to ask twice. Their fingers brushed when Peter placed the new box on top of the old. Johnny didn’t move his hand.

"Hey," Peter said. His hair stood up at all angles and his eyes were red. He was wearing a shirt with some stupid band’s logo across it. He looked terrible.

Johnny had spent what felt like a million nights in the Negative Zone, thinking about Peter Parker at his best, in his skintight costume with some warm island sun shining down on them, and not a second of it was better than this moment.

He had to dig his nails into his palm to make sure it was real. 

"I missed you," Peter said, like a punch to the gut. "I really did." 

"I kind of got that from the way you let me take over your apartment," Johnny said, trying to remember how easy it had been to make fun of dorky Peter Parker once upon a time. "And the way you let me put you in debt over takeout. Also? The crying." 

It felt hollow, but it made Peter laugh. It was congested and shaky, but it was real.

"Jerk," he said. His fingers tightened over Johnny’s. 

"Want me to make fun of you some more?" Johnny asked. "Because I don’t know what you did with your hair while I was gone —"

"I’ve created a monster," Peter groaned, flopping backwards on the bed without ever letting go of Johnny’s hand. Johnny wondered if he’d webbed them together, his grip was so tight.

He stretched out, lying down next to Peter with their linked hands between them. He wanted to say, _I missed you too_ , or, _having your arms around me was the best I’ve felt in two years, not that the competition was steep_ , or even just something stupid like - _I’m glad you were there for my family_. 

"Your butt looks so big in that costume," he said. 

Peter groaned, twisting to hide his face in the mattress. 

"Seriously!" Johnny said, leaning over him. "Like — Becky. His butt looks so —"

Peter grabbed him before Johnny could break into song, wrestling him down to the mattress. Johnny laughed for real, twisting with no real intention of getting away, and then all of a sudden Peter dropped like a stone, face mashed against Johnny’s stomach. 

Johnny’s breathing evened out. His hand found Peter’s messy hair, idly tugging it into even more disarray. 

"I didn’t believe it," Peter said, voice muffled. Johnny’s fingers stilled, midway through giving Peter a wilting fauxhawk. Peter raised himself up on his elbows, nailing Johnny with the big brown doe eyes. "I mean — you’re the _Fantastic Four_. It’s not supposed to happen to you. I talked to Franklin but still — I didn’t believe it until I went to the Baxter Building after your funeral.”

Johnny’s swallowed, throat dry, and Peter just _stared_ at him, silent and weighty, and Johnny — Johnny couldn’t find any words.

"I’m really disappointed that there wasn’t a big statue," he said after a moment.

Peter fell back on top of him with a muffled noise that might have been exasperation and might have been relief. 

—

_The thing on the other side of the arena was easily five times Johnny’s size, with hide thicker than Ben’s, and it didn’t seem to care that he was on fire. It locked its big hands around him and squeezed until -_

Johnny woke with a strangled gasp, expecting the sterile blue of the medical bay and a familiar itch in his chest. Instead he found himself staring out a streaky window at the dawn with someone’s heavy arm flung across his waist. 

Peter’s apartment. Peter’s hand at his hip and Peter’s cool breath at the back of his neck and the sun shining down on New York City. 

Johnny didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

He elbowed Peter in the ribs. “Hey. Wake up.”

"Urgh," Peter said, trying to twist away without ever really letting go of Johnny. Johnny didn’t remember either of them falling asleep, let alone spooned up against each other, but he wasn’t complaining. "No." 

"C’mon," Johnny said, rolling onto his back. "It’s the sunrise. It’s cool."

"I see it all the time," Peter groused. He pulled the pillow out from underneath Johnny’s head and stuffed it over his face. 

"Your loss," Johnny said, pulling himself up. The view from Peter’s bedroom was actually pretty terrible, so Johnny couldn’t explain why it made him feel like he was thirteen and the girl across the street had just smiled at him, or like he was behind the wheel of his very first car.

Speaking of: “Tell me Reed and Sue didn’t donate my cars to a worthy cause.”

"They’re in a garage," Peter grumbled. "I think. Why are you talking about cars when it’s the _worst hour ever_?”

"I’m going to make eggs," Johnny decided. "You want eggs? Sure you do. Do we have eggs?"

Peter threw the pillow at his head. 

"I’ll get ‘em delivered," Johnny decided, tossing it back. 

It took Peter twenty minutes to emerge from the bedroom. He was wearing the sheet like a toga and his hair was even worse than the night before. 

He was staring at Johnny like he’d seen a ghost, which might’ve been fair, if Peter hadn’t spent the whole night with his face mashed against Johnny’s shoulder. 

"What?" Johnny said. He had one brief, irrational moment of panic, glancing down at his bare chest — but there was nothing there but smooth skin. No way for Peter to know. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Peter said, raising one hand to scrub at his face. "Just — thought I had this weird dream. Great dream. Guess not."

His grin was embarrassed. Johnny turned back to the stove out of sheer self-preservation. 

"You cook?" Peter asked. Johnny shrugged.

"I light on fire," he said. "You get bored and creative. Girls dig it when you can make ‘em a grilled cheese without leaving the bed."

"Too much information," Peter said, planting his pointy chin right on Johnny’s shoulder. He cleared his throat, awkwardly, like sticking himself to Johnny’s side like glue was weird now that it was daylight. "This okay?" 

It made Johnny’s throat tight, how okay it was. 

"Yeah," he said. "Don’t let the sheet catch on fire." 

"Spidey sense," Peter hummed. "They made these tiny statues of you, y’know. In memorial."

Johnny didn’t know what to say to that.

"Sorry," he said. "I don’t know why I keep opening my big mouth -"

"Pete," Johnny said, twisting around in his grip. "You actually can’t offend me by mentioning the time I was dead, unless you come up with about a million Bugle articles about how you were way better on the FF than me and everybody made up a holiday called The Human Torch Is Dead Day and it’s basically the new Christmas —" 

The look on Peter’s face was so ridiculous Johnny couldn’t continue without laughing. He took Peter by the shoulders and said, “I get it, okay? You don’t need to walk on eggshells.” 

"Maybe if you were a neater cook," Peter mumbled, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I’m really glad you’re back, Bichead."

"Happy to be back, Webwit," Johnny said, knocking their foreheads together. "How do you like your eggs?" 

"Not burned," Peter said. His eyes fell on the counter. "…Is that my wallet?"

"Couldn’t figure out your paypal password," Johnny said. "Can’t believe it’s not my name."

Peter groaned, dropping his forehead against Johnny’s bare shoulder. “You’re going to k—” he stopped with a yelp, like he had actually bitten his tongue to avoid saying it. 

"No I’m not going to kill you," Johnny said, voice steadier than he felt. He slipped his hands underneath the hem of Peter’s t-shirt, just to feel him. 

"Yeah you are," Peter said. 

Johnny hummed. “What’d I just say? Too messy. I’ll have to hide the body.” 

Peter huffed a laugh against his neck. “Stick around, Torch. It hasn’t been any fun without you.”

Johnny stroked a thumb over Peter’s hip.

"Speaking of fun," he said. "You know what I haven’t done in a while -"

"No," said Peter.

”- Clubbing,” Johnny finished, grinning. “C’mon, Pete-“

"Oh, no," said Peter.

”- I’m going to take you places,” said Johnny, finally feeling a spark again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](http://www.traincat.tumblr.com)


End file.
